


til you get what you want

by eleadore



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Consensual Somnophilia, Established Relationship, Light BDSM, M/M, Non AU, Schmoop, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 03:06:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1535279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleadore/pseuds/eleadore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Harry is still too big for Louis to take. He wants him anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	til you get what you want

**Author's Note:**

> in conclusion: [harry has a big dick.](http://24.media.tumblr.com/578a26e03b8e03fabac6285fed00c4e1/tumblr_n4nyojSDwT1r8ux4io1_250.gif)

By the time the screams die down, Louis has lost all desire for sleep. 

He knows he’s not the only one still awake, because Niall called twenty minutes ago begging Louis to please come hold a pillow over his head, but Louis doesn’t want company, not really. He doesn’t want to watch a film or smoke up or fuck about on Twitter, too stuck in that middling place where everything distracts him but nothing holds his attention. But the nervous energy stoppered in his chest is familiar to him--even comforting, in its own way. It’ll bleed out in hot, steady spurts once they’re finally on stage, and Louis’ been looking forward to that release for months, so he doesn’t want to be talked down. He wants to fuck something up.

Someone.

“He’s asleep,” Anton from security warns him before handing over the keycard. If it were any of the senior members of the team, Louis would be herded back into his own room and told to stay put. If it were Paul, he’d be cuffed about the head first. But it’s just Anton, so Louis pats him companionably on the arm and rewards his tired look with a grin before making off in the direction of Harry’s room, barefoot and buzzing. 

It’s pitch black inside. The light from the corridor illuminates the room for a split second before Louis closes the door, and in it he can make out the boots he’s about to trip over and the heap of covers on the bed. Once it’s dark again he leans back against the door to let his eyes adjust, but the curtains are drawn so tight not even a sliver of light slips through, and Louis is too impatient to feel his way around tonight. 

Any other time, he would have. He likes it best when Harry’s asleep--when he stays asleep--and Louis can climb into bed and work his pliant, heavy body with his hands and mouth as he pleases, until Harry’s panting, brow furrowed and eyes squeezed shut, a stroke away from coming. Sometimes--not often, but sometimes, he’ll sleep through the orgasm and Louis will get to clean him up, so thorough there won’t be a trace when he wakes, and he’ll mistake it for a dream until Louis tells him. Or doesn’t. 

When they were younger Harry would insist on knowing. He’d crowd Louis against a wall and snog him breathless and demand to know how he was used. More often than not, Louis ended up showing him, looked right into his eyes while he sucked down his cock, cheeks hot, jaw aching from the stretch. He’d kiss him as he pulled him off, rougher than Harry really liked, rougher than he had been the night before, when every slow, sweet stroke of his hand had been almost reverent. 

Harry doesn’t ask anymore, but sometimes Louis tells him anyway, in a text that’ll get deleted as soon as its read, or a whisper lost to the screaming crowd. And the thought tempts him, because there’ll be thousands of eyes on them tomorrow--today, _tonight_ \--and he hasn’t made Harry flush in a while, much less in public, but he doesn’t have the restraint for it. He can’t imagine going slow and easy, not now, not when it feels like his skin is stretched too tight from everything he’s trying to hold in, heart knocking into his ribs with each beat and cock pulsing in time. He wants to get fucked, wants Harry wide-eyed and straining for it, as desperate as Louis is. As greedy. 

So Louis gropes around for the switch instead, and floods the room with light.

Harry doesn’t even twitch. His face is half buried in the pillow, with the covers drawn up to his chin. The air conditioning isn’t even on, but he’s been feeling off for a few days, prone to saying things like, ‘I think the cold is _inside_ me,’ and whining about how he’ll never be warm again. He’s got his earphones in, and when Louis nears he can see Nature Sounds: Beachfront turned up to the highest volume on his mobile. 

It would be a shame to wake him. Paul would be disappointed, but Louis is more concerned with his own cock at the moment, trapped in his briefs and throbbing plaintively, so he grabs two fistfuls of the covers and heaves them right off. 

“Come on, sunshine,” he says loudly, when Harry groans and flips over, trying to keep Louis from taking his earphones. “Wakey wakey.” 

“Not sun yet,” Harry says nonsensically, burrowing his head under the pillow. “No. No.” 

Zayn would have shanked him by now, but Harry just whines weakly when Louis yanks the pillow away and settles astride his thighs. His skin is so hot to the touch, so soft, that Louis regrets not slipping in under the covers with him and taking his time to map the easy give of his body. He’s squinting his eyes shut, a pout forming in the corners of his mouth, so Louis takes pity on him. He drops a kiss to his chest and lets Harry have the pillow while he trails his mouth down, lets him try to go back to sleep while Louis breathes hot over his ribs, nuzzles into the cut of his pelvis. He smells warm, like clean sheets and sweat from a rising fever, and bucks up when Louis bites at the laurels and kisses his thighs. 

It’s curious, how differently Harry’s body reacts when he’s awake. His abs wouldn’t tense this way in sleep, wouldn’t go stiff under Louis’ palms, and he wouldn’t squirm when Louis runs a hand along his flank, ticklish. His breath wouldn’t come so shallow, knuckles clutching at the pillow he’s still holding against his face, but his cock--his cock fattens up in Louis’ mouth just the same, slow and easy, as though it likes best to be coaxed. 

Harry shudders when Louis eases the foreskin back with his mouth and suckles on the head, cries out when Louis digs his tongue into the slit. He says something that might be _don’t_ and might be _please_ , muffled in the pillow as it is, so Louis squeezes his prick and seals his mouth around the tip, relishes the way it fills his mouth. Harry’s big enough to seem threatening even when he’s soft, and Louis takes some kind of sick, nervous thrill in watching him grow hard, how he lengthens. The girth of him, and the way his skin tightens, and the thrum of his pulse just underneath. 

His cock is wet from spit and steadily leaking precome when Louis pulls back. Harry makes a protesting sound when it slaps against his belly, hips coming off the mattress as though chasing Louis’ mouth, but he’s still hiding his face in the pillow, as though he expects Louis to service him and turn off the lights on the way out. And--well, it’s not like Louis hasn’t done exactly that before, not like he hasn’t done it more times than either of them can count, but that’s not what he’s here for. 

Harry lifts one corner of the pillow off his face when Louis gets off the bed. A bleary eye tracks his progress across the room, where Louis roots around in the suitcase until he finds the lube. He’s still squinting fiercely by the time Louis gets back, but he’s also got a big hand wrapped around that big dick of his and an expression on his face that says he might yet just roll over and go back to sleep, so Louis chucks the lube at him before he climbs back up. 

“Do you want to fuck me or do you want to nap?” 

“Both,” Harry says, after a moment’s consideration, and squirms when Louis pinches the thin skin of his hip. “‘m tired. Why’d you wake me up?” 

“Wanted to see your pretty eyes,” Louis says, squeezing lube out onto Harry’s stomach and making him hiss from the cold. He warms it up against his skin, makes enough of a mess that Harry will complain about it later, before reaching under his thigh and pressing a slick finger against his arsehole. 

“Couldn’t you just,” Harry starts, and props his eye open with his thumb and forefinger, looking so ridiculous Louis laughs even as he slips another finger in. 

“They roll back in your head when you’re asleep,” he tells him, and Harry frowns, huffing to blow a stray curl out of his eyes. He’s still got a hand on his cock, fisting it lazily, and Louis would smack him if it didn’t look so good, long fingers squeezing the base, twisting on the upstroke. Harry doesn’t play nearly as much with the head when he’s doing himself, too sensitive for it, and his grip is looser than Louis’ would be, but the slow slide of precome over his fingers, his rings, makes Louis’ entire body clench up. 

“No, they don’t,” Harry says, and it takes a second for Louis to refocus. 

“How would you know? You’d be asleep.” Louis’ fingering himself almost absently now, rocking down on two fingers while he watches Harry pull at his cock, and traces of the nerves that kept him awake have his hands trembling. He wants it so badly he’s not even tempted to touch himself; there’ll be time for that, when he’s sat on Harry’s cock, stretched from him to the point of hurting. That’s his favourite part--that it always hurts a little, no matter how thoroughly he’s been prepped, because Harry’s fucking massive. He’s big enough that it’s an inconvenience, at times. Big enough that Harry hadn’t even expected Louis to want it, had to be gagged the first few times they fucked because he got so loud, came so fast, just from getting to put it in.

“Because you’re a fucking liar,” Harry says, voice gone low and just a little hoarse. He’s gotten better about not shooting off in twenty seconds, if not any more restrained with the volume. His eyes are swollen from sleep, red-rimmed but bright, and they keep flickering from Louis’ face to where he’s got three fingers tucked up his arse. “Next you’re going to tell me I snore.”

“Nothing so hurtful,” Louis reassures him, and twists his fingers one last time before pulling them out. He wipes the residual wetness on Harry’s thigh just to see the muscle jump. “Hands over your head.” 

“I won’t touch,” Harry protests, letting go of his cock and pressing both palms flat on the bed, as though he expects Louis to believe he’ll keep them there. He yelps when Louis’ slaps his cock twice in quick succession, and scowls, but it fades into a pout as Louis slicks him up. “You’re nicer when you think I’m sleeping.”

He’s smirking when Louis looks up, tongue caught between his teeth. It’s not the first time he’s teased Louis about the fact, and it won’t be the last. Louis suspects it’s mostly bullshit, because he can tell the difference between a sleeping Harry and one who’s only pretending to be, and Harry’s shit at pretending anyway, but--he can’t be sure, in the same way Harry can’t be sure whether what Louis tells him of the night before has any truth to it. There’s a symmetry there that appeals to Louis, most of the time. Settles him. 

When Harry isn’t being a smug twat about it, at least.

He flinches when Louis raises a hand, anticipating another smack, and his arms tense when Louis just laughs at him, like he’s tempted to reach out and reciprocate. But he doesn’t move, and Louis is a big believer in positive reinforcement, so he rises up onto his knees and gives Harry’s cock a few affectionate tugs before fitting the head up between his cheeks. 

There’s enough lube between them that it keeps slipping, even with Louis gripping the base. 

“Oops,” Louis mumurs, when it happens for the third time, and looks up through his lashes to see Harry’s jaw tick. Drawn up this way, the muscles in his arms stand out in stark relief, and Louis’ mouth wets with the urge to sink his teeth in, leave marks on his right arm dark enough to match the left. There’s a flush creeping across Harry’s chest, and his nipples are so hard Louis’ own throb a little in sympathy, and when he reaches up to pluck at them Harry’s hips jerk. The head of his cock catches against Louis’ arsehole this time, and they both gasp. 

“Please,” Harry manages to say, but Louis doesn’t need it, too far gone to hold out any longer. He feels wet and so fucked open he could sink all the way down in one smooth slide, and goes to do just that, toes curling from anticipation, from imagining what it’ll feel like, being so fucking full. 

He hasn’t even got the head in before it starts to hurt. 

It drives a sound from him, a short, startled _unh_ that makes Harry’s hands twitch. He’s panting, mouth so red it looks painful, and his eyes are wide and dark, just like Louis wanted, so Louis watches him and bears down, holding his breath until the head pops in. They hiss when it does, and Louis lets out a little laugh that gets strangled in his throat when he tries to sink down further, because it’s hurting still, hurting _worse_ , an unrelenting throb that has him lifting his hips instinctively to get away from it. 

Harry’s cock slips out and Louis releases it to wipe sweaty palms on his thighs. That’s--all right, maybe he wasn’t as loose as he thought. He fucks his fingers in again, two straightaway, and his hole feels sore, but it’s good, the kind he likes. It’s fine, it _has_ to be, because he wants it so fucking bad it feels like his insides are cramping. 

“Lou,” Harry says, and his voice is shot, nearly as bad as if Louis had been choking him. Louis can’t see his hands anymore because they’ve been tucked beneath the pillow, but he’d bet they were curled into fists. “‘s been a while.” 

“Not that long,” Louis says dismissively, and Harry bites the corner of his mouth. 

“Weeks. Nearly three.” 

“Good, Harry, you’ve learned how to count.” Louis twists three fingers in hard, and holds the fourth against his hole like a threat. His face feels hot--no, all of him does, sweat sticking the vest he never bothered to take off to his skin. He yanks it off and takes a second to draw in a few deep, greedy lungfuls of air before settling into place again. “So what?”

“So,” Harry starts, and stops abruptly when Louis sits on his cock. His hips twitch up enough to punch the head in, and a little more, before Louis makes a noise that has him stilling. “Louis. Look at--does it hurt? Lou.”

“No,” Louis lies, and forces himself not to rise up. He’s dropped a hand to Harry’s hip without noticing, and clawed at him more than a little, left uneven red lines scored on his skin. He breathes in slow and deep and then fast and shallow, but nothing seems to lessen the fucking awful ache in his arse. It’s not enough to make his erection flag, because he still relishes the stretch on some deep, unstable level, but it’s worse than he thought it would be. His thighs are burning and it’s not getting better, though he knows it should. He’s done this enough times, bloody hell. But he’s shaking like a _virgin._ “You’re just. Big. Did you know that?” 

“Aw. Do you really think so?” Harry says, and it’s the blank look on his face and that stupid, dry, morbid tone of his voice that makes Louis laugh. He sinks down accidentally, thighs nearly giving out on him, and it hurts, suddenly, so much that he has to pull off. “Fuck. Fuck!” 

Harry tilts his head back while Louis curses, long line of his throat on display, and for a moment all they do is pant in unison. 

“More lube?” Harry suggests, once Louis starts shifting impatiently. 

“Do you want us to drown?” Louis says, but finds the bottle and gets Harry’s cock good and wet again, slicks up his own arse. It’s so easy to fuck himself on his fingers, hole sucking them right in, and he knows his fingers are small, and Harry’s cock considerably larger, but he should be able to take it. He _wants_ to take it. There’s nothing that compares to being stuffed with that cock, fucked as hard as Harry can-- _hard_ \--and it’s been so long that Louis just wants it worse.

“Just don’t--move, give me a second,” he says, and Harry has the good sense not to argue. The lube makes it easier, at first, but the relief hasn’t spread any farther than his chest when he locks up again. “Just, unh--just give me a--” 

“Yeah,” Harry says, “all right, can I touch you?”

“No,” Louis says, and from the mutinous set of Harry’s jaw it seems like he might anyway, but then he sighs, and closes his eyes. His face relaxes so easily it’s almost like he’s fallen asleep, and Louis might be fooled if he wasn’t swallowing convulsively, the muscles of his stomach tensing in short, agitated bursts. But it’s a good enough pretense to have Louis wondering how many times Harry’s used it on him in the past, and the preoccupation has him sinking a little further on his cock. 

“Mm,” Harry hums, and Louis can tell he’s trying to keep his voice from shaking. “Big day tomorrow.” 

“T-G-I-F,” Louis agrees, and Harry’s mouth twitches before he laughs, short and soft.

“Great weather we’re having.”

“Every day is beautiful when I’m--mm, oh--fuck. When I’m with you. Harold.” 

He’s only got a bit more than half in, and his entire body is throbbing like it’s one big nerve. He tries to bounce a little, because it always feel better once it’s rubbing up all the right places inside, bound to feel good once they’re fucking properly, but his body decides to chase relief from the ache instead, and Harry’s cock has slipped out before Louis even realizes he lifted up too far. “Fucking _fuck._ ”

Harry groans along with him this time. His cheeks are a deep, blotchy pink, mouth sore-looking, and he’s lying so still, everything in him straining not to move. Something about it makes Louis’ eyes prickle furiously, frustration slapping him hard enough to sting. He should’ve let him sleep; the time apart and the show tomorrow and bloody--all of it has clearly tensed Louis up somehow, in a way he can’t seem to push past.

It wasn’t this difficult the first time they fucked. Granted, Harry had been sixteen, so maybe it doesn’t count, but Louis knows they’ve gone longer than three weeks before. And while the last month has been too hectic for him to play around much even on his own, it’s not like Harry’s got a third leg, or anything. He’s not _that_ big.

Though right now he looks it, cock fat and hard, drooling messily on his belly. Louis feels something akin to anxiety seize him even as his own cock twitches in response to the sight, the thought of getting it in him. 

Maybe he just has to be quick about it. Ruthless. No mercy. Like ripping off a plaster. 

“Harry,” Louis says. “Harry. Hazza. You remember that ice bath?”

Harry doesn’t seem to be listening. The look on his face is some odd cocktail of relieved and devastated when Louis swings his legs off and flops down beside him on the bed. 

“Hey,” he says, unfolding his arms and tugging Louis in by the back of the neck to kiss him, a short, sweet thing that makes Louis sigh. It deepens almost instantly, their tongues curling against each other in a way that makes Louis reach down and cup his cock, give it a quick squeeze. Harry’s breath is hot against his cheek, and his mouth is so shockingly soft that Louis gives into it, lets himself be kissed until he’s dizzy, and has to pull back for air. Harry slides a hand from his neck to his ribs and back again, like he can’t stop touching him, and--well, that’s partly why Louis doesn’t let him, but sometimes it feels too fucking good to resist. 

“Let me blow you,” Harry mumbles, nipping at his throat. “Please. Won’t touch you.” 

“No,” Louis says, and Harry makes a small, wounded noise, biting him harder as if to convince him. 

“You can tie me up, then,” he says, and Louis wants to--always wants to--but there’s something he wants more, and Harry can’t tempt him away from it. So he says, “no,” and, “no, I want you to fuck me.”

“Lou--”

“You’re going to hold me down and fuck me,” Louis says shortly. “All right?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Harry says, but his cock jerks, precome beading at the slit.

“I didn’t ask,” Louis says. He holds Harry’s gaze for as long as he wants, until he bites his bottom lip and cuts his eyes away. 

Louis flips onto his front, pillowing his head on his arms before he thinks better of it, and draws his knees up under him. Harry’s watching him, squeezing the base of his prick with one hand and cupping his balls with the other, like he’s afraid he might come. 

“Get on me,” Louis murmurs, and can’t help the way his arsehole screws up tight when Harry shifts in place behind him, one big hand placed at the dip of Louis’ back. Anticipation settles heavy in the pit of Louis’ belly, makes his heart rise up in his throat. He presses his face into the pillow and takes a breath, but it smells so overwhelmingly of Harry that he gasps, has to get a hand under him so he can take hold of his cock. “Come on. Don’t--fuck around, all right,” because Harry has the worst oral fixation he’s ever come across, and would eat Louis out for hours before he fucked him if he got a say. But he doesn’t get one, not tonight, so Louis hitches his arse up and spreads his legs a little more before throwing Harry a look over his shoulder. “Do it hard.” 

Harry doesn’t bother warming the lube before he slicks them up again, and Louis twitches at the cold but says nothing. He’s not sure he can. His heart’s beating so hard it’s the only thing he can hear, face hot and breath caught in the warm, humid space between his arms and the pillow. Harry’s fingers fuck into him first--of course, because he only takes direction well if Louis is staring him down--and they’re thicker than Louis’ own. Longer. Louis can feel the ridges of his rings when they pop past his rim, and he squirms while Harry stretches him out, because he’s sore but it doesn’t hurt, and that’s how he knows it won’t help.

“Don’t,” he manages to get out, when Harry starts kneading at his spot. “I’ll come.” 

He’s so wet--he _sounds_ wet, when Harry draws his fingers out, hooking them almost playfully. He drops open-mouthed kisses along Louis’ spine, from the jut of his tailbone to the back of his neck, noses into the soft, sweaty hair there before lowering his body to fit them together, front to back, his cock nestled against Louis’ arse. 

Louis bites the inside of his cheek when Harry starts to press in, then relents and bites the pillow instead. 

“Lou,” Harry says, and grabs his hips with both hands when Louis tries to squirm away, holds him still and fucks in, and in, and in, until Louis is gasping and slapping a palm against the bed before clawing at the sheets because it feels so--he can’t get away. It feels like Harry’s driving all the breath out of him with just that one thrust, slow and implacable, and it hurts but fuck, he needs it. He’s going to have bruises where Harry’s fingers are digging into his skin. He’s not even all the way in yet. “ _Louis._ You have to tell me--you have to say something.”

Louis can’t even breathe, much less--

“Say it, or I’ll stop.”

“ _Yes,_ ” Louis chokes out, “yes, y--es.” 

“Yes what,” Harry says, but he doesn’t stop, and when his balls finally slap against Louis’ arse they both shudder and go still. Louis thinks the ache is a part of him now, taking space inside his body as much as Harry is. He’d feel empty without it. “Yes _what_.”

Louis squeezes around his cock, and that seems to intensify it, spreads the throb from his arse all the way to his toes. He arches into it helplessly, then away, but Harry’s dropped what feels like his entire weight on Louis’ body, keeping him in place. He feels so big. Louis’ cock has gone slippery in his palm and he’s stopped stripping it, because he’s afraid he might come. 

“Fuck me,” he says, when he realizes Harry’s not going to move. He’s panting like a racehorse against Louis’ shoulder, and Louis thinks he can feel him trembling. “You can--as hard as you want.” 

Harry makes a sound, low in his throat, and Louis holds his breath when he starts fucking him, expecting it to hurt worse before it gets better, but Harry doesn’t rock in deep, or hard, or rough. He keeps his thrusts shallow, the hands on Louis hips hefting him up and angling him just so, until his cock bumps up against Louis’ spot on every odd thrust and makes his toes curl.

“Tell me when it’s good,” he says, “all right? Louis. Tell me when--”

“When,” Louis says, because it was good even when it hurt, but Harry doesn’t let up, so much worse than Louis when it comes to getting his way. He bites Louis shoulder, and runs both lube-tacky hands up his sides and then to his front, touching him so lavishly that Louis wants to shout. It’s not that he ever forgets this side of Harry--it’s not something you can forget--but he gets so caught up in the pliant Harry, sometimes, the one he coaxes from sleep and holds down and uses, that he’s off his guard when Harry decides he no longer cares for the rules. So Louis gives in, just for now, and says, “please,” muffling it into the damp pillow in front of his face, says, “it’s good,” and wills Harry to believe him. 

Harry’s still working his hips in that slow way, rocking into him more than anything else, and his hand steals down to bat Louis’ away from his cock. “‘m close,” Louis warns him when he wraps his hand around it, and Harry squeezes as if in encouragement. “I’m gonna--harder, Harry, I want--”

“You want to be able to walk tomorrow?” Harry bites him again. His voice has gone so deep Louis can feel it, like it has weight. “It’s Friday, remember.” 

Louis is always sore the next day, but that’s the kind of pain he craves, the kind he can’t escape. He’s gotten good at masking a limp over the years, but it’s irresponsible as fuck to take the risk before the start of their world tour, and he knows that, but he just---”I need it,” he says, because he can’t fucking help himself. “Just do it for a little while--until I come, I’ll come, Harry, please--”

“Fuck,” Harry spits, and the first sharp drive of his hips makes Louis yell. It can’t be more than a minute, Louis knows he couldn’t have lasted any longer, but it feels like it goes on for days, the kind of wild, vicious fuck that’s something of an out-of-body experience. They’re knocking the bed against the wall and Louis can barely hear the thump-thump-thump over the sound of his own sobs and short, gaspy whines. Harry’s teeth are digging into his shoulder again, a bright spark of pain to contrast the dull ache spreading through the rest of his body, and he’s moaning too, low and steady, like he hurts just the same as Louis. Like he needs it just as badly. 

Louis’ entire body jerks like a live wire when he comes, and Harry fucks him through it, fisting his cock with one hand and keeping him in place with the other. Louis thinks he’d shout, if he had the breath for it, because he didn’t know he could come this hard, something almost violent about the way he seizes up in the throes of it. He doesn’t know when Harry pulls out, can’t feel anything but the frantic pound of his own pulse for long seconds, but the hot spurts of come striping his back make his cock twitch again. 

Louis doesn’t realize he’d been crying until Harry draws a thumb under his eye to wipe the tears away. His skin feels tight, and his head is pounding, like maybe the pillow wasn’t wet with just spit, like maybe he’s been crying for a while, so Louis closes his burning eyes and buries his face in the crook of Harry’s sweaty neck. 

There’s a hand petting his back, rubbing come into his skin, because Harry’s the type to take advantage. It skates from the jut of Louis’ shoulder blades all the way down to the curve of his sore arse, and back up, again and again, until it becomes so familiar that Louis makes a protesting noise when it stops. He bites it back, but not fast enough, and Harry laughs into his hair as he starts up again.

“Wanted to get fucked up, huh?” he says, softly enough that Louis could get away with pretending not to hear it. “Did it help?”

Did _I_ help? is what he means to ask. Harry’s never transparent unless he wants to be, so Louis throws a leg over his hip and curls in closer, lets him wrap both arms around him until there’s no place they’re not touching. 

“You’re going to get it tomorrow,” Louis tells him. He closes his eyes and places a little kiss to Harry’s throat, which vibrates with his happy hum. 

“Try not to wake me up this time,” Harry says, but Louis falls asleep before he can laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on [tumblr](http://eleadore.tumblr.com/)/[twitter](https://twitter.com/eleadore), thanks for reading!


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